


Importance

by angelofgrief



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It of Sorts, I AM TRASH AND I AM SORRY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelofgrief/pseuds/angelofgrief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pseudo-chronological ordered series of events that follow Eggsy's life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Eggsy’s six-and-a-half years old when a strange man with glasses comes in the apartment.</i><br/>“I very much regret that your husband's bravery can't be publicly celebrated.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Importance

**Author's Note:**

> I was having feelings. And procrastinating. But that’s a different story entirely. Also, let’s make the assumption that Eggsy is about Taron’s age (in this case, I am going to use 25).
> 
> I am also an American and as such, my knowledge of Britain is vague and inexact. So please excuse any and all inaccuracies, especially regarding the Royal Army.

Eggsy’s four years old when his father gives him a bright yellow toy car.

His mother had said no more toys— _You always buy him so many toys_ , she laughs as his father hands him a blue truck— but his father winks and asks him if he can keep a secret.

He keeps the secret and later tells his mother that he found it outside while playing.

(He doesn’t know that his father was right behind him, laughing quietly to himself as his mother glances over and shakes her head.)

* * *

 

Eggsy’s six-and-a-half years old when a strange man with glasses comes in the apartment.

“I very much regret that your husband's bravery can't be publicly celebrated.”

His birthday is coming soon (in about three months, he counts). So he sits in the living and waits for his father to come through the door (he thinks he’s seen the stranger with his father a couple of times).

“How can I understand?!”

Then, his mother is crying and suddenly, his father isn’t coming home.

He isn’t coming home anymore.

Still, he grabs the snow globe off the small table and shakes it. The snow is moving around and it reminds him that London is snowing too.

He doesn’t feel like crying like how his mother is crying now but he thinks that maybe the sky is crying for him— it’s too cold so it turns to snow instead of rain.

“What’s your name, young man?”

He tells him his name: Eggsy— his father was the first to call him that because he had dropped a carton of eggs on the floor.

The stranger hands him a pendant with _take care of your mother_ and _I’m sorry_ attached to it. He takes it and turns it against his hand and nods at the stranger. He had brown eyes just like his father. 

* * *

 

Eggsy’s ten years old when his mother remarries a guy named Dean.

He doesn’t like Dean and Dean doesn’t like him.

Eggsy’s eleven when starts hiding old picture of his father in his books.

He doesn’t have a lot of them but then again, he doesn’t have a lot of picture of his father (Dean’s take and tore them without his mother’s approval— then again, Dean doesn’t really care).

* * *

 

 Eggsy’s twelve when he first ran away after Dean’s smacked him.

He comes back, apologizes, gets smacked again and locks himself in his room.

He opens up one of his books and a picture of him and his father on the merry-go-round falls out.

He learns how to hide the scars and goes to bed crying.

* * *

 

 Eggsy’s fifteen when he shags up with Clarissa from secondary school. And Jack from a different class.

But that’s a different topic completely and it’s not like Dean or his mother really care about his sexual preferences or sex life in general.

A recruiter comes in from the Royal Marines and, as a dare, he tries out and gets in.

* * *

 

 Eggsy’s seventeen when he graduates early from secondary school and joins the Royal Marines.

They start basic training and he’s starting to see a future.

Before Christmas, barely glancing at seven months, he gets a call from his mother.

“Eggsy please, please, come back home! I can’t lose you too! Please! Please!”

The next day, he quits and decides that the Royal Marines just wasn’t for him. There’s no future anymore as his mother hugs him, crying softly on to his shoulder.

Dean’s there and he’s grinning like the piece of shit that he is.

* * *

 

Eggsy’s twenty-two when his mother says that she’s pregnant.

A baby girl, she says. His eyes glisten from tears but they weren’t happy.

After 9 months, his baby sister finally arrives and her name is Daisy, the flower.

He makes a promise to care for Daisy.

* * *

Eggsy’s twenty-five years old and he’s made a consecutive row of mistakes that ultimately end up with crashing a car into a police car.

“Oxfords, not Brogues”

The station tells him he can leave; there’s a man outside waiting for him.

Later, at the pub, Eggsy remembers the man from before, when he was young and he had just told his mother that his father’s passed away. He spins an incredible story about his father then and smiles at the stranger because _his father was a hero_.

“But my dad saved your life, yeah?”

Then this fucking stranger cuts him deep— calls him disappointing, blames him for not manning up to his issues. Eggsy holds himself steady because it’s too easy punching someone out nowadays. Besides which, he doesn’t understand— a guy like him with a fucking fancy-ass suit will never understand.

“Because my mum went mental! Banging on about losing me as well as my dad!”

Then he starts ranting— this man’s a fucking arse, is what he is.

He shoves his _ivory tower_ down his throat because he still has scars from the cleaver Dean used on him when he was younger. He still hears his mother crying across the living room as Dean beats her. His bones still ache when he gets high, remembering the time where he jumped off a roof to find some fucking peaceful bliss— all he ended up with was 10 stitches and 5 broken bones.

Dean’s boy band group comes in and he stops being mad— being angry only does so much before it’s all talk and poison.

“Manners maketh man,”

Jesus Christ, this stranger is ridiculous.

He distinctly remembers his name to be Harry Hart as _Harry_ hands everyone’s asses to them. There’s bottles of vodka, guns and bullets, even a fucking umbrella and to top it off, a fucking dart to the bartender and he falls right asleep.

_Harry Hart is one badass motherfucker._

 

Eggsy’s still twenty-five and not dead.

Which is good, considering the day he’s had.

“Interested?”

“You think I’ve got anything to lose?”

The thing about people like him is that every day, they’re given an ultimatum. Eggsy’s lived his life with ultimatums wrung around his neck and every choice just seems like the lesser of two evils.

So Kingsman?

He’s already been at rock bottom before.

 

Eggsy’s twenty-five and two months into training.

Like he mentioned before about ultimatums, the training is no different. Except it’ll include life-or-death options too.

During the course of it, he’ll meet up with Harry and they’ll talk about his progress (though, not too much into detail because even our recruiters aren’t supposed to know much in the beginning). Sometimes, they’ll talk about off-handed things like how shite the rooms are for everyone or the ridiculousness of the estate itself.

Harry smiles at him and looks at him like… he’s _important_. He fights the urge to grin like a bloody idiot.

Eggsy tries harder and aims high for each training exercise.

He doesn’t think it’s because of Harry yet.

 

Eggsy’s twenty-five when he hears about Harry and the explosion incident.

He rushes to the Kingsman hospital room and stands there. There’s Merlin and Arthur as well.

“Is he going to be alright?”

He doesn’t understand why he’s asking. Or rather, if he was asking for the sake of a friend or not.

“We need to have patience, Eggsy. But there is hope. Okay? If I were you, I'd concentrate on your training. Make it through the test, make him proud,”

When he leaves the room, he steels himself for anything and everything that comes his way. He doesn’t notice that his hand is shake a bit as he runs with JB.

And he makes a point of visiting Harry for at least an hour throughout the week.

Sometimes, he’ll fall asleep there.

And if his hand is just a little too close to Harry’s, he pretends he doesn’t notice.

 

Eggsy’s twenty-five and he’s back home.

JB’s still alive and he’s a failure.

His mum comes back home and she has a black eye.

“No, I should never have left you on your own,”

JB’s still alive and so is Dean. For now, that is.

 

Eggsy’s twenty-five and full of shit.

The taxi car drives himself out— his screaming echoes inside the car and in his mind.

_He hurt my mum, Harry!_

He’s pissed because _Harry, it’s my fucking mum!_ And he slams the car door shut as Harry leaves his balcony.

“You shot a dog just to get a fucking job?!”

—

“It was a blank, Eggsy. It was a fucking blank,”

In the back of his mind, he’s never heard Harry say such vulgarities— _shit_ , _arse_ , yeah they’re small words but hell, _fuck_ is more censored than not. And he’s said it twice. Then words slip from his mouth and he has no idea why or what happened,

“My dad might’ve saved your life, even though your fuck-up cost his? Wha’, you’ve got him stuffed here and all?”

When Eggsy looks back at this moment, he thinks he knows why he said that to Harry.

Because if he’s gonna call him a fucking disappointment, then he sure as hell is going to make Harry feel _his_ disappointment.

“Can't you see that everything I've done has been about trying to repay him?”

That is bullshit.

“Harry, I’m so sorry, I— “

“You should be,”

He bites in the inside of his cheek. So much for that.

Disappointment. Failure. Bloody wanker.

When Harry leaves, he goes up the stairs and into the Red Room, he likes to call it. It has all the article and newspaper titles and… well, it’s painted red. He punches the wall and it leaves a weird sensation in his arm.

The sensation goes to his heart and he feels like fucking crying.

He can’t figure out why thought, because Harry’s a stranger.

He’s no one important… right?

* * *

 

Eggsy’s twenty-six and two months in.

He’s a Kingsman agent and is knighted as _Galahad_.

It tastes bitter and metallic but that might be just the blood in his mouth.

He delivers a well-deserved blow to one of the baddies and he falls forward on his face. It’s been a year since _Harry_ — it’s just been a year.

There are times where he’ll be mad. Especially when he goes out to the cemetery (always, he’ll bring two bouquets of flowers, one for his dad and one for Harry). Because he knows he is a disappointment—

He doesn’t need Harry to tell him that.

 

Eggsy’s twenty-six and seven months in.

Guess what.

“Fuck you!”

The blood on his knuckles aren’t his and he slams the door shut, throwing his glasses down the hallway and angrily walking out of the Kingsman establishment.

Harry’s alive— of fucking course he is, Valentine was a shit shooter anyway, he should’ve known.

Apparently, he only took four months to recover and only Merlin (and a couple of the seniors) knew that Harry was alive.

What they failed to mention was that— _Harry fucking Hart was alive and no one told him._

He heads home and no one’s home— mum’s got a new boyfriend (who isn’t a bad guy and can be shy at times) and brought them to America with his sister (they sent postcards with different states). He heads toward his alcohol-only cabinet in the kitchen and goes straight for the hard liquor.

He downs three shots of pure, Grey Goose vodka before throwing the entire bottle against the walls.

Eggsy’s isn’t even close to drunk yet but he can’t find it in himself to drink until he’s passed out from sheer luck.

His back hits the edge of the counter and he slides down.

The blood on his hands is his now but it doesn’t hurt.

And fuck it all, he’s _crying_ now— why the fuck is he crying?

“Shit…haha…”

Because he realizes why he’s crying now— he’s happy. He’s honestly, truly happy that Harry’s alive. Because he missed that man. My god, he really missed him and it hurts so much.

“God… I bloody love him, don’t I?”

He’s laughing now as the tears fall and he’s wiping his face with his non-bloodied hand. His heart hurts and his tears feel like they’re on fire but he knows he’s happy right now. He’s mad too but he’s happy—

 

Eggsy’s twenty-six and outside’s a bit frigid.

He’s caught a cab to the cemetery— no flowers this time — and he’s walking towards a grave.

_Here lies Harry Hart. Known for his kindness and courage. A wonderful friend and respected mentor._

Eggsy sit on the grass, thanking the gods that it isn’t wet, with his back against the tomb marker and closes his eyes.

It’s quiet and the silence that engulfs him is strangely peaceful.

“You can be arrested for desecration of a grave, if you aren’t too careful,”

He opens his eyes and see Harry in the vague lighting of the moon (he looks so surreal, Eggsy entertains the thought that maybe he’s a ghost or that he’s fallen asleep).

“What are you doing here?”

“Came to say goodbye,”

“To wha’? Goodbye?”

Harry kneels down and suddenly they’re at eye-level (he tries not to notice the small distance between them).

Just like how he tries not to pay attention to the fact that he’s clenching and unclenching his good hand.

“When I died back then, I missed something,” he says quietly.

“What did you miss?” _Why are you telling me this?_

“You have never disappointed me, Eggsy. I’ve read all of your mission reports and you are far from a disappointment. I have always been proud of you, through and through,”

He shuts his eyes and they burn with unshed tears. His heart is pounding in his ears and he can feel his breathing staggering, as if he’s suffocating. My god, does he really love this man.

“…I-I… T-Thanks…” he replies, eyes still shut.

“… Eggsy, why aren’t you opening your eyes?”

_Because if I open them, I’ll start crying._

He’s fighting the urge to cry— against the feelings of immense sorrow, of despair, of _disappointment_. Then Harry says his name once more, just _Eggsy_ and he know he’s in for it now. So he opens his eyes and the tears fall, blurring his vision quick and he’s probably blinking more much than the average person crying.

Then he starts laughing and even with the tears, he knows Harry’s a bit surprised, shocked.

“I bloody love you, mate. Oh god, I really do,”

He pushes the balls of his hands on his eyes, trying to stop the crying while wiping away the tears. He’s still laughing, albeit a bit quieter than before, but still, his shoulders shake and he can’t stop smiling. Then, there are hands on the sides of his face just as his tears calm down.

Harry isn’t wearing his glasses.

“As do I, my dear boy, _as do I_ ”

When Harry kisses him, he clings on his arms for _dear life_. His kisses taste salty and _Harry_ tastes like honey and tea and it’s the sweetest combination. And he wants more— like an addiction.

* * *

 

Eggsy’s twenty-nine— it’s his birthday today!

His mother gives him a scrapbook of all embarrassing moments in his school life and it’s ridiculous— he loves it. Daisy’s given him a bracelet she’s made in primary school during an art event. It has red and yellow yarn interwoven with the word ‘Daisy’ on it and a little flower near the end. He wears it and shows off to his mum and they all laugh.

“What do you want, darling?”

He grins at the petname but doesn’t let go of his hand.

“I’m pretty chill right now, _monkey_ ,”

He looks ups and sees an incredulous look with a hint of a glare and Eggsy laughs at it.

There’s nothing to want when you’re twenty-seven years old with the love of your life and a wonderful family to boot.

“Might I offer a suggestion, then? Since you seem so content with your life right now,”

“Sure, shoot,”

Harry pulls out a folded handkerchief and hands it to Eggsy. He takes it and slowly opens it. Two rings.

**Author's Note:**

> My personal headcanon with these two is that Harry used to be in love with Eggsy's father.  
> Can you imagine the angst? Because I can and I will fucking fall for it (but that's a different story).
> 
> The ending feels rushed because the implications are all there and yes, you are fucking right.


End file.
